Psych: What Dreams May Come
by spookysister7
Summary: Nightmares don't come true... Or do they? When Henry, Lassie, Gus and Juliet all have ominous dreams about Shawn, does that mean something bad is going to happen? Or is it all a big coincidence? Shawn and everyone else whump! Dream character death.
1. Chapter 1: Choking up

**Psych: What Dreams May Come**

**Chapter 1: Choking up**

"God, please," Shawn choked out, scrabbling against the arm pressing into his throat.

"You've never learned when to shut up, have you?" I snarled, pushing harder, his feeble tugs growing weaker as his fingers pried at my arm. I felt him, finally, kick at my shins, trying to throw me off balance, but the pitifully weak jabs were laughable.

His face was red and tears streamed from his eyes as he struggled to breathe. He mouthed a few words, disbelief and confusion written all over his face.

I felt his struggles weaken, his arms dropping to his sides. He blinked up at me, hardly able to focus. His hand fisted around the seam of my loudly-printed Hawaiian shirt.

"Dad?" he managed to croak out, his wide hazel eyes pleading with me.

There was a crunch from under my arm and his hand fell limply to his side.

I looked down into the clouded, lifeless eyes of my son and smiled.

I woke with a gasp and sat up quickly, wincing as my back protested. For long moments I didn't know where I was, when it was. I just saw Shawn's look of betrayal and, worse yet, his empty eyes.

My hands were shaking as I scrubbed over my face, unsurprised to find it wet with tears.

What kind of dream was that for a father to have? I mean, the kid aggravated me, sure, but I never really wanted to kill him. Never. He was my son.

The first rays of sunlight were just peeking over the mountains, but I couldn't stop myself. Snatching the phone from its place on the bedside table, I hit number seven on the speed dial.

After three rings, each one tying my stomach in tighter and tighter knots, he answered.

"Dad?" he croaked, sounding so much like he had in the dream that I was seized with an unreasonable fear.

"Dad, are you okay?" Shawn asked, his voice clearing, though now worried.

"Dad!" he called again, and I could hear him moving around.

"Shawn," I rasped, my throat closed tightly.

"What's wrong? Why didn't you answer me?" Shawn yelled, his voice tense.

I cleared my throat.

"I… I'm fine. Nothing's wrong," I said.

There was a loud huff and I could hear him fall back onto his bed.

"Why are you calling me at… 5 am then?" he asked with a tired sigh.

"I just…"

What? I had a bad dream and I had to make sure you were okay?

"This better not be about fishing," Shawn interrupted before I could complete my sentence.

"Yeah," I said, seizing the lifeline, "I was about to head out and wanted to see if you'd join me," I spat out the lie quickly, hating the sour taste of it.

He snorted.

"Yeah, right. I'll jump on my bike and be over in two shakes of a trout's tail. Not."

I glanced over and saw the shirt from my dream, hanging benignly from the closet doorknob.

"That's fine, Shawn," I said softly, "Have a good day."

There was a long pause.

"You, too, Dad," he said finally, sounding puzzled, "Have fun hooking poor, unsuspecting fish," his tone changing as he prepared to hang up.

"Be careful, Son. I love you," I added before he could go.

He had to know. He had to stay safe. I couldn't bear to see him like that, ever again.

A longer pause.

"I-I will," he stuttered, "Are you sure you're okay?"

I sighed and gave a noncommittal hum.

"Love you, Dad," he said quietly, "Bye."

He hung up and I held the silent phone for long minutes before I forced myself to move.

The first thing I did was burn the shirt.

And then I had to repaint the hallway.

AN: Do you guys want me to continue? Or is this okay to leave as is? I'm sorta inspired to write a Shawn and Henry whump fic. You like?


	2. Chapter 2: Inhumane

**Chapter 2: Inhumane**

"You know what, Spencer? I've had enough of you," I said, my Glock pointed unwaveringly at his head.

Spencer raised his hands, a half-smile still on his face.

"Aw, come on, Lassie, you know you love me," he said, his voice wavering slightly as his eyes locked on the end of my gun.

I grinned.

"You're not going to talk your way out of this one," I said, my voice both cheerful and vicious, "You've pushed me too far this time."

"Seriously, man, put down the gun," Spencer said, his voice growing higher pitched with every word.

I shifted my feet to better brace myself for the recoil and he took a step backwards, his eyes flittering from side to side, looking for escape.

I laughed, chuckling harder at the look of confused astonishment that flitted over his stupid face.

I stopped laughing.

"Run," I said quietly, a smirk twisting my features.

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"I prefer a moving target," I explained, shifting my stance once again.

"I… you… You can't be serious!" he exclaimed, shaking his head.

I glared at him, raising the gun once again to his forehead.

"Or you can just stand here and die quickly. Your choice."

I saw the change in his hazel eyes as he finally realized I wasn't joking.

He ran.

I watched him for a few seconds as I lined up a shot. He did an admirable job of running serpentine, but the nearly empty warehouse gave him few choices for cover.

BAM.

The discharge of my pistol echoed against the steel walls of the building, as did his high-pitched screech of pain.

He was on the floor now, his fingers wrapped around his bloody left bicep. He was looking up at me, betrayal in his eyes.

"Run," I said again, staying in firing position as he scrambled to his feet.

I savored the flash of hopelessness I saw in his eyes before he turned and ran.

I let him almost make it to the paltry cover of a broken shipping box when I fired again.

BAM.

He went down with more than a yelp but less than a roar.

He turned over on his back, his hands immediately abandoning the wound on his arm and clutching around the hole in his thigh. The profusely bleeding hole.

He was in too much pain to even notice my approach, much less evade it.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," I heard him mutter from between clenched teeth as he tried, and failed, to stem the hemorrhaging.

It wasn't until I entered the edge of his peripheral vision that he looked up at me, pale and shaking.

"Lassie, please," he begged, his voice just below a whine, "It's too much. Too much blood. I can't…"

I aimed my Glock at him again.

"Run."

"I can't, I can't," he whimpered, shaking his head even as his eyes refused to look away from the motionless weapon in my hand, still smoking slightly.

I chambered a round and his short, quick breaths stopped.

"Please, Detective Lassiter," he pled, his voice low and serious, "Please, don't. Help me. You can still…" he looked me in the eyes, his hazel orbs meeting my icy blue and he shivered.

There was no mercy to be found. Only pure, unadulterated hatred.

"I'm going to kill you now," I said calmly.

He pushed with his good leg, moving scant inches before the pain had his eyes rolling back.

I waited for him to recover, watching his body shudder as his blood pooled across the dirty cement floor.

"I don't understand," he whispered, a tear escaping his eye and running, unheeded, down his fashionably stubbled face.

"That's the problem, Spencer. You never have."

"Lassie," he croaked, one blood-coated hand reaching out towards me.

BAM.

His body jumped, rising from the floor for a moment before going completely limp.

His hazel eyes gazed emptily up at me, a stream of crimson dripping over his eyebrow and following the track of his tear.

I woke with my hand wrapped around my Glock. I sat up quickly, taking quick inventory of my surroundings. It was only when I called a mental 'clear' that I allowed myself to slump back against the headboard.

What a nightmare. I couldn't rightly call it a dream. No matter how often I'd fantasized about putting that little punk in his place, I'd never seriously hurt him. Sure, he was annoying, but, in his own way, he was almost, but not quite, a friend.

But it didn't matter what Spencer had done, no one deserved to die like that- tortured and afraid. It was… inhumane.

The sun was barely visible in the distance, but I knew there would be no more sleep for me.

Maybe I'd go for a jog. A nice long one. Past Spencer's place. Just in case.

AN: So, I've finally got a rough idea of where this is going. I don't know how many chapters it's going to be yet.


	3. Chapter 3: Blindsided

**Chapter 3: Blindsided**

"What is it with everybody this morning?" Shawn griped loudly as he flung open his door and shuffled back into the kitchen.

He was staying in what used to be a donut shop, so the kitchen doubled as the bathroom. That was only one of the reasons I refused to eat anything he made himself.

But food was the last thing on my mind at the moment. Well, maybe not the LAST thing, but definitely not in the top five. Okay, top two.

My highest priority at present was making sure that Shawn was really, truly, okay.

I'd thought about calling him, but after the nightmare I'd had, nothing less than a face-to-face powwow would do.

I sat down heavily in one of the booths, the torn vinyl seat ripping further with a quiet shredding noise. I shuddered and closed my eyes, unintentionally flashing back to my dream. My nightmare.

"You know what, Shawn, I'm sick of listening to you. You steal my stuff, you lie to everyone, you're just… useless!"

"Come on, man," Shawn whined, following me as I stormed out of my office. I ignored the wounded look he was trying to hide, my fist clenched around the handle of my case.

"No, I will not 'come on'! I'm leaving!" I said as he trailed behind me down the long hallway, my co-workers peeking out of their offices to see what all the racket was.

"Gus, I don't understand," he said, tripping down the stairs in an effort to catch up to me.

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glared over at him.

"My parents were right all along. You're a bad influence and a bad friend. And I'm not going to live in your shadow any longer."

I strode quickly away and out the door before he could say a word. There was silence for long moments, and then I could hear his hurried footsteps catching up to me.

"In my shadow? Gus, you never… I never… I'll change," he promised, grabbing the edge of my sleeve as I started to step off the curb.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"Shawn, you never change. And you never will. We're not friends anymore, got it?" I spat, looking both ways before I sprinted across the busy intersection.

I listened for the footfalls I knew would follow.

They did. He did.

I'd timed it perfectly; he never even saw it coming.

There was the squeal of brakes, a screech of shock, and then a low thud.

I set down my case and turned around from my safe location on the sidewalk.

Calmly I sauntered across the street, the Mack truck's driver screaming obscenities as he called for an ambulance.

I kneeled next to Shawn's broken, bloody body; his hazel eyes squinting up at me.

"Didn't see that one coming- did you, Psychic?" I asked coldly, a sneer twisting across my face, "At least I'll finally be free of you."

He coughed weakly, a tear falling from his eye.

"G-Gus?" he rasped, his fingers brushing against my polished shoes, leaving behind ruby streaks.

I looked up and glanced around; making sure no one could see me. When the coast was clear, I slipped a tiny, instantly dissolving pill in Shawn's mouth.

He swallowed it down trustingly, looking up at me with a grain of hope in his eyes.

I grinned and patted his cheek.

"Drug interactions are a terrible thing," I said quietly.

His eyes widened and he started to choke.

I leaned down and whispered one last thing in his ear.

"You know me, Shawn; always have a plan B."

I watched, content, as the paramedics ignored Shawn's weak protests, ripped open his torn sleeve with a quiet shredding sound, and quickly injected him with painkillers that would ultimately prove fatal.

"Gus, you alright?" Shawn asked, shaking my shoulder.

I opened my eyes with a gasp, grabbing his arm instinctively.

"Buddy, you're freaking me out a little," Shawn said with a crooked smile as he pried my fingers from their death grip around his forearm.

"S-sorry," I stuttered, forcing myself to take deep, calming breaths. It was just a dream. Shawn was fine. I hadn't deliberately gotten my best friend run over. Or poisoned him. Or disowned him.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to dispel the images that floated across my mind.

Shawn sighed and shook his head, mussing his hair as he ran his hand through it.

"I don't get it," he said, "First Dad, then Jules calls, all freaked out. Then Lassie ran by and I could swear he almost stopped to talk to me, and now you're doing your stress-Lamaze-breathing thing. Is there something in the water?"

I frowned up at Shawn.

"What did your Dad and Jules call about?" I asked, feigning normalcy as I fought the urge to take ahold of his arm again, just to make sure.

He gave me a fishy look and then sat down in the booth across from me, sliding over a bag of Funyuns.

I ripped open the bad and started eating compulsively as he answered my question.

"Well, Dad said he was calling to invite me to go fishing…"

I snorted a laugh and swallowed before responding.

"You'd think he'd give up on that fantasy," I said with a roll of my eyes, the onion-flavored corn snacks hardening into lead in my stomach as I flashed back into the dream again.

"You'd think," Shawn continued, oblivious, "But he sounded weird. He even told me he loved me; can you believe it?"

"Wait a minute- he said what?" I exclaimed, the shock widening my eyes. Mr. Spencer never said anything even remotely nice to Shawn unless one of them was seriously hurt or dying or something. It was like his 'man code'.

"I know!" Shawn said, standing and pacing next to the table, "It was freaky! Why would he call me at five in the morning to tell me he loved me? That's just… And then, as soon as I get off the phone with him and almost get back to sleep, Jules calls!"

"At five?"

"Yeah!" Shawn says with a sigh as he sat back down, "But it wasn't her fault. She had a really bad dream and she was crying so hard I could hardly tell what she was saying. It took me almost half an hour to calm her down and keep her from rushing over to make sure I was okay, or something."

"Juliet had a bad dream about _you_?" I rasped, swallowing hard.

"I guess," Shawn said with a shrug, "So when I finally got her off the phone, I glance out the window and who do I see? Lassie! I know he saw me too, and he kept standing there like he was thinking about coming over, and then he just took off. Do you know how far it is on foot from his place to here?"

"Pretty far," I murmured, trying to connect the dots.

"And then you knock on my door. Barely six a.m. and I've already talked to everyone I know!" Shawn said, letting his head fall tiredly on the table.

"Weird," I muttered.

"So," Shawn said, his head popping up, "Why _are_ you here?"

I'm sure fifteen emotions flashed over my face as I thought about whether to answer honestly or make up something; not that lying to Shawn ever worked. With a sigh, I gave in and decided to tell the truth.

"Ihadabaddream," I said quickly, turning away as heat flooded my face. Of all the un-manly things I'd shared with Shawn, this had to be one of the worst.

"Wait, what?" Shawn asked, cocking his head. I glanced over and grimaced at the grin plastered all over his face.

"You, Fearless Guster, had dream so bad you came crying to me about it?"

"No!" I denied immediately, "I didn't cry, Shawn! And I didn't come to you because I was scared. I came because…" I cut myself off. Did I really want to tell him why I came?

"Because…" Shawn said teasingly.

"Because I wanted to make sure you weren't dying in the middle of a street somewhere!" I shouted, standing and turning my back to him. I didn't want to see the mockery on his face as he picked apart the fallacy of believing in dreams.

"You dreamt I was dying?" he asked quietly.

I turned to face him, surprised by the worry I heard in his voice.

"Shawn?" I asked, taking a step towards him.

He looked up at me, frowning.

"Gus, maybe we should go down to the station and talk with Lassie and Jules."

"Why?" I asked, my voice unconsciously rising with my anxiety level.

He stood with a sigh.

"Because I think I might be in danger."


	4. Chapter 4: Cliffhanger

AN: Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I've been sick.

**Chapter 4: Cliffhanger**

Kissing Shawn was like no other feeling in the world. His lips were soft and slightly pineapple flavored, the stubble on his chin not as rough as it appeared.

That was the only thing I would miss; his kisses.

After all, that was the only time he shut up.

He pulled away and grinned at me inanely. I had to fight the scowl from appearing on my face. If only those lips weren't connected to that brain.

"You okay Jules?" he asked, frowning slightly.

I smiled up at him, shifting uncomfortably as a rock dug into my spine. The steady pounding of waves against the cliffs filled the silence as I debated if I had time for one more make-out session before I killed him.

"Just a rock in my back," I said lightly, still contemplating.

He grinned again and rolled us over. Now I lay on top of him, our denim-covered legs entangled. I pushed myself up slightly with one arm and gently ran my fingers beneath his thin t-shirt, over the short fuzz, following the trail up his abdomen and ending at the hollow of his throat.

It would be so easy to end it now. I could break his neck with one swift movement, my fingers caressing the delicate skin that protected even more fragile bone and sinew.

He moaned, his left hand moving down my back to cup my bottom, the other tangling in my hair and bringing me down to meet his lips.

I allowed myself to enjoy the moment, the feeling of his talented lips and tongue, once again put to their proper use.

He pulled away again, gasping for breath as his hand slid forward and cupped my cheek.

I could reach into my stylish leather boots right now and slide the thin blade between his ribs and he'd die with a smile on his face. But it had to look like an accident, and stabbing was no accident.

"What are you thinking about?" Shawn asked, planting kisses down my throat as his hand slid under my shirt.

"You," I said honestly, kissing him one last time before I rolled off him and stood, fixing my hair.

He lazily rose also, glancing around before resting his hands on my hips.

"There's no one around," he said mischievously, "Why'd we stop?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Shawn, we are in a public place."

"And, so, therefore?" he asked with a naughty grin.

I shoved him lightly and turned away, stomping up to the edge of the cliff.

After a moment, I heard him clamber after me.

"Jules, I was just kidding," he whined, reaching for me.

I pulled away, glaring down at the waves as they pounded against the jagged rocks below. The occasional spray of sea foam misted up and I could taste the bitter saltiness of the ocean.

"Jules," he implored again.

I turned to look at him. His soft lips were pouted, his eyes large and surprisingly puppy-like. He stood next to me on the cliff's edge. Far enough away that the danger of falling was minimal… unless something untoward happened.

I moved around him, and he turned, expecting me to speak. When his back was to the cliff, I moved.

All it took was one good shove.

Like the cartoons he was so fond of, Shawn appeared to hang in midair for a moment, arms wind-milling wildly.

And then he fell.

I had anticipated that he'd let out a scream, cry for help, something, but he was surprisingly silent.

I peered over the cliff's edge, expecting to see the sea cloudy and red with blood. My eyes widened in surprise.

"Jules!" Shawn called, fingertips grasping the narrow outcropping with white-fingered fervor, "Help me!"

I blinked down at him in surprise. Don't tell me he still didn't get it!

"Why would I help you, Shawn?" I laughed, "I'm trying to kill you, though, as usual, you're not cooperating."

"Jules, why?" he asked, gulping as his feet scrambled unsuccessfully to find a toehold.

"You have to ask?" I spat bitterly, "You're the most annoying, irritating, and selfish person I know! The only reason I haven't killed you before now is that you're a hell of a kisser. You're always sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong, Shawn, and we are all sick of it!"

"We?" Shawn asked, managing to lever one elbow onto the thin ledge.

"The Chief, Lassiter, Gus, heck, even your Dad is sick of your antics! I just drew the short straw."

Shawn looked up at me, shaking his head.

"No, you're lying," he insisted.

I grinned down at him, toeing over a few loose pebbles to rain down into his eyes. As he flinched away, his fingers slipped further.

"You might as well stop fighting, Shawn. I won't let you make it back up."

I heard him sob, his face pressed into his shoulder. When he looked up at me again, his eyes were watery and his expression serious.

"I'll change, I swear," he rasped, "I'll go away and never come back. Just, please, please, help me."

I cocked my head and pretended to think about it.

"How about… no!" I said with a cruel smile, "I won the draw, so I get to see your broken, mangled, dead body first. It's only fair."

He swallowed and paled, and I could see the cogs turning in his mind.

"But you're a cop!" he said, "You're supposed to protect people, not kill them! Even ones you… hate."

I knelt down and laughed as I saw a faint flicker of hope in his eyes.

"But I am protecting people, Shawn. I'm protecting them from you and your lies."

I walked away from the cliff's edge and I could hear him screaming my name, thinking I was leaving. When I found what I was looking for, I picked it up and carried it back to the edge.

"Alright, alright, I lied to you!" Shawn yelled, "I'm not a psychic! I'm sorry! I'm sorry about everything! Just help me, please!"

He looked up at me, his shoulders shuddering as he refused to let go of his lifeline.

"I knew you weren't psychic, Shawn, because if you were… you'd see this coming," I said hefting the large rock and tossing it over the edge, directly towards him.

There was a high-pitched screech, a splash, and then silence.

The tumultuous waves sent up plumes of pink-tinted spray.

I woke with a sobbing gasp, tears already rolling down my face before I could get my trembling fingers to turn on my bedside lamp.

Shawn. Oh, God, Shawn. I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself, wishing he was here now, wishing it was him holding me now, kissing me, telling me he was fine and it was all just a bad dream. But it was so real. I could taste the sea salt, tinged with iron from his blood, the metallic scent oozing into my pores. The rolling hatred from the dream had my stomach twisting inside me, writing like a black snake. I still felt it. The victorious rush of endorphins as I watched his body smash against the rocks.

I scrambled out of bed, the sheets tangling around my ankles and nearly knocking me down as I fled to the bathroom. I fell down in front of the toilet, heaving what was left of last night's dinner. Even when I'd emptied myself, I still gagged between sobs. I could still smell it, taste it. The blood. Shawn's blood.

Babe came in to check on me, her soft meow dragging me back to reality. I reached over and pulled her close, scratching behind her grey ears as I cuddled her to my chest. She was warm and real and alive. Just like Shawn.

Babe squirmed out of my arms and I forced myself to my feet, leaning heavily against the sink. I had to talk to Shawn. I had to know he was still alive. Still with me.

I ran into the bedroom, skidding across the wooden floorboards as the sheet slid out from under me, nearly taking me out. I grabbed the phone and made it back onto the bed, pulling the comforter tight around my shivering shoulders.

Holding down the number five, I waited impatiently for the speed dial to connect. It rang. And rang. By the third ring I was nearly hyperventilating, the tears making an abrupt reappearance as my throat closed off.

"Jules?" Shawn asked, sounding surprisingly awake for so early in the morning.

"S-Shawn?" I sobbed, unable to control myself as the relief flooded through my body.

"Jules are you okay?" he asked worriedly, and I stopped breathing as I flashed back into my dream.

"Jules!" Shawn called again, his voice rising in panic, "Are you hurt? Do I need to come over? Are you okay? Jules, answer me!"

I forced myself into a modicum of control, the fear in his voice evident.

"I'm o-okay," I stuttered, "I h-had a bad dream, that's all," I said, flushing as I thought about how foolish I was being. But it was so real. I had to know.

I heard him sigh heavily.

"A-are you okay?" I asked, hating to ask and yet I had to know. Had to make sure.

"Me?" he asked in surprise, "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"My d-dream," I said quietly, "You… I… You died," I managed, tears reappearing as I lived through the images again. His broken body pounded against the rocks until…

"Shh, shh," I finally heard Shawn comforting quietly, "I'm okay. It was just a bad dream. Shh. It's all okay, I promise Jules."

"S-sorry, Shawn," I sniffed, "I know I'm being stupid."

"No you're not," he said gently, "It's fine. If you want, I can come over. Do you need me to?"

"Uh-uh," I shook my head, "I'll be okay now," I said, forcing my voice into a semblance of normality.

"You sure? It's no problem."

I smiled. He was so sweet.

"I'm sure. But thank you. I need to jump in the shower now anyway."

"Oooh! Then I'll definitely come over and join you!"

I chuckled and shook my head, sniffing, "Thanks, Shawn. Love you."

"Love you too, Jules," he said lowly, "See you later?"

"Definitely."

It took me two hours before I stopped tasting the blood. But by then, I had more important things to worry about.


	5. Chapter 5: Revelations

AN: I wanted to say thank you to all of my reviewers! I know I haven't responded to you lately and I'm sorry, but I want you to know I appreciate each and every review.

**Chapter 5: Revelations**

I couldn't get the images out of my head. His eyes, begging me not to kill him. The red, red arterial blood painted across the dull cement floor. The nearly silent whimpers of pain he tried and failed to control as he fought to remain conscious, to stay alive long enough to beg me, the one who shot him, for help.

His empty eyes as I laughed.

I wiped a shuddering hand across my eyes and forced myself to reread the file open in front of me.

Spencer was alive. I'd seen it myself this morning. I'd almost felt the need to apologize to him before I remembered that I had nothing real to apologize for.

I hadn't done it. I hadn't. I just had to remember that. To remember that I didn't need to clean the blood from my shoes, didn't need to file a report about discharging my weapon. Didn't need to face my partner and tell her I'd murdered her boyfriend.

I glanced up at her, thankful that, for once, she was in a quiet mood.

O'Hara was staring down at her keyboard, sniffling quietly. Was she crying? She sniffed again and then wiped angrily at her eyes.

Looking around, I stood and strode over to her desk.

"You okay, O'Hara?" I asked gruffly, my voice low.

She looked up at me in surprise, her eyes red-rimmed. Quickly, she wiped away the last traces of tears and forced a smile.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice raspy.

I sighed. For as much as she liked to talk normally, O'Hara was a bear when it came to discussing emotions. Normally I'd let her be, but I was still feeling a bit guilty, so I pressed.

"You're crying," I said, wincing internally. Way to state the obvious, Carlton, "What's wrong?"

She chuckled and shook her head.

"It's stupid," she said quietly.

I sat on the corner of her desk.

"Try me," I urged. Anything to get that dream out of my mind.

"It's just… I had a nightmare," she whispered, peering around to make sure no one was listening in. I instinctively leaned closer, even as my heart skipped a beat.

"It was so real. So awful," she said, her voice shaking, "About Shawn."

I swallowed hard, the images from my dream springing once again to my mind.

"Spencer?" I squeaked.

"My ears are burning!" Spencer said cheerfully, striding into the room.

I stood quickly, my fists clenching at my sides.

He was alive. I had to remember that. I looked him over. His arm was unharmed, he was standing normally. His forehead was intact, though my eyes lingered a bit where the bullet from my dream had pierced.

Spencer shifted and I met his eyes, uncharacteristically serious.

"We need to talk," he said, Guster hovering uncomfortably behind him, "In private."

I nodded shortly. Usually I would argue with him. Usually I would demand to know what was so important. Not today.

"Conference room," I said shortly, striding towards the room and shutting the blinds as Spencer, Guster and O'Hara took a seat.

I shut the door and sat down, watching Spencer fidget uncomfortably as we all stared at him.

"What is it, Shawn?" O'Hara asked, breaking the silence.

Spencer took a deep breath and ran a hand through his tousled hair, his eyes clouded with exhaustion.

"Look, I want you guys to be honest here. It's life or death."

All O'Hara and I stiffened at his words and Guster looked faintly nauseous.

"Jules, I know you had a nightmare last night. So did Gus. So, Lassie, did you?"

I set my jaw. It went against the grain to tell Spencer something so private, but I didn't have to tell him the details.

"Yes," I said simply.

Spencer nodded and leaned forward, meeting my eyes.

"In your dream did I die?"

O'Hara gasped and Guster lost another shade when I nodded sharply, my lips pursed.

Spencer glanced over at O'Hara.

"You too, Jules?"

She nodded mutely, her hand over her mouth.

Spencer sighed.

"Gus dreamt I died, too. And I think my dad dreamt it. It has to mean something when all four of you dreamt I died!" Spencer said, standing and pacing the room.

I looked over at Guster and O'Hara and decided I needed to tell him everything. Maybe it would make a difference.

"It wasn't just that you died," I said, fighting to keep my voice emotionless, "I killed you."

Spencer froze, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What? Like an accident?" he asked.

I shook my head and sighed, my hands clenching on the table as I fought to keep them steady.

"I shot you. I murdered you," I said quietly.

O'Hara and Guster gasped and I shut my eyes, not wanting to see their reproving looks.

"Oh my God," Guster whimpered, "I murdered him too."

My eyes shot open and I looked over at Guster in surprise.

"Gus!" Shawn said with a forced grin, "Lassie wanting to kill me I can see, but you?"

"Me too," O'Hara said quietly, holding onto the edge of the conference table with a white-knuckled grip.

The last vestiges of Spencer's good humor fell away.

"Really?" he asked quietly, "All three of you dreamt of killing me last night?"

We nodded, showing varying degrees of guilt.

Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed quickly, setting it down on the table as it rang.

"This is Henry," Spencer Senior answered.

"Hey, Dad, I've got a quick question for you."

"Yeah?"

"Did you dream you killed me last night?" Spencer asked, ignoring our glares of disapproval at his bluntness.

When Henry gasped and dropped the phone we had our answer.

Spencer sat down heavily, covering his eyes as we listened to the clatter of the phone being retrieved.

"Shawn, how could you… How did you know?" Henry asked, his voice weak.

"You better get down to the station," Spencer murmured, "I think we may have a problem."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Henry said, the phone clicking off.

None of us mentioned the fact that, traveling legal speed limits, Henry's house was at least fifteen minutes away.


	6. Chapter 6: To sleep

**Chapter 6: To sleep**

Okay, this is officially impossible. Even my Dad wants to kill me now. Alright, so I always suspected he wanted to kill me, but, sheesh, you'd think he'd have gotten over it by now.

I sit down and sigh, looking across the table at the line-up of perps. A sorry excuse for murderers. One old man, retired cop or not, a girlfriend, okay she carries a gun and can wield a mean ax, but still, a pharmaceutical salesmen that faints at the sight of blood, and a recently divorced cop known for his short temper and itchy trigger finger. Bad example. But three out of four shouldn't have any real inclination towards violence, so why did they all dream of killing me?

And why did they all dream of killing me on the same night?

That's what was really getting me. Not the dreams themselves, though by the guilty expressions on their faces they were nightmares to beat the band, but the fact that they all had similar dreams, with an identical victim, on the same exact night. Even at the same moment if the phone calls and early-morning meetings were any indication.

"Did somebody poison your burgers?" I asked, figuring maybe some sort of shared hallucination was to blame.

"I ate fish," Dad muttered, shaking his head.

"I had steak and potatoes," Lassie added.

I looked over at Gus and Jules.

"We split a Hawaiian pizza, remember?" Jules said, gesturing at Gus and me. I nodded, frowning. Well, I didn't have a nightmare, so that ruled out the pizza.

Did anything strange happen yesterday? I scanned through the day mentally, shoving aside useless information like the number of hats in the diner where I ate breakfast and how many pineapple pieces I'd stolen off of Gus' slices.

There was one thing. When we'd visited that creepy voodoo store, looking for information about the disappearance of Daniel Craig (no relation), everybody except me had complained about the strong incense smell, but I didn't notice anything odd about it. At the time, I thought they were just griping because they didn't like stopping in after the big lunch we'd had, but now I wasn't so sure. Maybe there was more to it.

"I think we need to go back to Mama Aimee's," I said.

"Where?" Gus asked, sharing a confused look with the rest of the group.

I huffed in frustration.

"You know; that creepy voodoo shop we stopped at after lunch yesterday! There was something off about it…"

"Spencer, are you alright?" Lassie asked, frowning.

"We didn't go to any voodoo shops yesterday, Shawn," Jules added, concerned.

"Of course we did! Don't you remember, Dad, you complained about the incense smell?"

Dad shook his head, "We just came back to the station after lunch, Shawn."

My mouth fell open in shock.

"Are you guys going senile? I mean, my Dad I can understand, but none of you can remember Mama Aimee?"

"Maybe that was your dream, Shawn," Gus chimed in, "Maybe instead of a nightmare like us; you just had a vivid dream."

I shook my head, frowning.

"No, it was too real. I remember it!"

"And I remember shooting you," Lassie growled, "But my gun hasn't been fired. If none of us remember this place you think we went to, then it has to be something you dreamt."

"But I…" I stuttered, lost for words. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe…

"Tell us about it, Kid," Dad suggested, "There has to be a reason you brought it up. Why do you think it's connected to our nightmares?"

I sat down and closed my eyes, picturing the store.

"It's just off Mariposa," I said, "A small purple house, stuck between a bar called Bar and a tattoo parlor that's shut down. The windows are boarded up, but there's a sign on the door that says open. I'd had a vision that led us there…"

Actually, one of Daniel Craig's friends, the last to see him, had dropped a business card out of his pocket at the station. All it said was Mama Aimee's and the address, but it was enough for me to 'run across' the place.

"You were all griping. You didn't want to stop and check there. You guys had work, and Gus was afraid to mess with 'the dark powers'," I continued.

"You know that's right!" Gus exclaimed.

"But I convinced you it was vital to the investigation, so we went in. It was dark inside and smelled like incense, and you guys thought the smell was too strong. We questioned the owner, Mama Aimee of course, and she said Daniel and his friends had visited her store once, but they were drunk so she made them leave. She was a large African-American woman, about 6' 2", 200 pounds, wearing some kind of sparkly purple turban. When I told her I was a psychic she…"

I frowned.

"She what, Shawn?" Jules asked.

"She threw some kind of glittery powder on the counter, chanted something, and then lit it on fire. Then we were back at the station."

I opened my eyes, paling.

"What's wrong, Shawn?" Jules asked worriedly.

"Didn't you hear me?" I asked, "I said we were back at the station. Not that we drove back or walked back. We were just back!"

"Proves it was a dream, then," Lassie snarked.

"I don't…" I trailed off. It felt so real. It had to be real.

I stood suddenly.

"I'm going back to the shop. I'm going to find Mama Aimee and prove we were there."

"Kid, it was a dream. There's no Mama Aimee," Dad said, grabbing my arm.

"It wasn't! It couldn't be! It was too real!"

Dad leaned in close and spoke quietly, "You know how your mind works, Shawn. If you wanted to, couldn't you make your dreams seem real?"

I frowned and pulled away. He had a point. I noticed everything. I could construct a store with pinpoint accuracy. But I also knew what I saw. And I knew I was missing something, not the least being the trip from the store to the station.

I rubbed a hand over my tired eyes. I hadn't gone to sleep until after one, and then the phone calls started at five… I was exhausted.

"Go home, Kid. Get some rest. Look at this with fresh eyes."

Everything in me rebelled against the idea of obeying him, but he was right. I was too tired to think clearly. And all the guilty looks were getting on my nerves.

"'Kay," I muttered softly.

Maybe a nap would do me some good.

After all, a little sleep never killed anybody.


	7. Chapter 7: Perchance to dream

AN: Scrubslova, thank you for your reviews! I would like to send you a PM if you would just TURN IT ON! :)

**Chapter 7: Perchance to dream**

"Gus! Jules! Lassie! Dad! Wake up! Wake up NOW!" I called to them, fighting against the restraints that had me pinned against the wall, my arms stretched painfully above my head.

They were restrained against the wall directly across from me, but that wasn't the worst part. My heart had nearly stopped when I'd opened my eyes and found myself here. I thought they were dead. Their eyes were open and lifeless, blankly staring through me. It wasn't until I'd screamed myself nearly hoarse that I calmed down enough to realize they couldn't be dead. Not really. They weren't hanging from their chains, they were still standing on their own, and every once in a while they blinked.

But if they weren't dead… Then why wouldn't they respond? I shuddered, falling silent as I pieced the clues together. The faint smell of incense in the air. The white-washed walls, cool with moisture. The lack of windows and the low ceiling. The faint hum of traffic and the dull thump of music.

We were in the basement of Mama Aimee's.

It was the only thing that made sense. But how had we gotten here? The last thing I remembered, I'd just gotten home and laid down for a quick nap.

"It doesn't make sense," I muttered, shaking my head, "There's got to be an explanation."

Frowning at the row of… zombies, I shuddered again at the idea- this couldn't be permanent. It couldn't be- I examined them closely.

Jules was wearing that magenta shirt I liked so much. Gus was wearing a lavender shirt with black detailing, Lassie's tie was a surprisingly tasteful shade of blue – must be Wednesday- and Dad's 'uniform' was marred only by a spot of mustard from the sandwich he'd had for lunch… yesterday. Yesterday was Wednesday. They were all in the same clothes they'd been wearing yesterday. I looked down at myself, the cheery face of Toucan Sam grinning up at me. But I'd thrown him in the pile of dirty laundry last night! How could I have him on now?

I couldn't. They couldn't be here. I couldn't be here. This had to be a dream. I relaxed a little. Of course it was a dream. I'd just had a delayed response to whatever had caused their bad dreams and now I was having one of my own. At least my bad dreams weren't murderous. Just creepy.

I tensed as footsteps came down the stairs, the wood creaking. The deadbolt slid over and the heavy wooden door opened with a squeal, revealing the woman I had expected to see.

"Mama Aimee, we meet again," I said, grinning. My smile fell a bit as I noticed her change in wardrobe. Instead of the light purple I'd last seen her in, now she was wearing a dark green, the sequined-scaled turban eerily reminiscent of a coiled snake.

"Psychic," she murmured, glaring over at me as she approached Lassiter.

She tilted his head and looked into his eyes, nodding slightly.

"They're not a real talkative bunch," I said, "especially Lassie. He's not communicative at the best of times."

She ignored me and moved on to Jules. My stomach lurched.

"Can I ask what it is you're looking for? The whole 'windows to the soul' thing is a myth!"

She went to Gus next and then Dad. After her silent examination, she pulled a small bag out of her pocket and poured a line of silver powder across the floor at their feet. Burn marks indicated that this wasn't the first ritual she'd preformed down here.

"Hey! You're not going to light that stuff, are you? That's a serious health hazard! The smoke alone…" My voice was teasing, but inwardly I was shaking. What was that stuff? Drugs? Is that why they were acting all zombified? Why wasn't I affected? What was she going to do to them? To me?

She lit a match and threw it onto the silver powder. I let out a cry of surprise as huge green flames leapt towards the ceiling, trapping them behind it.

"No!" I screamed, jerking forward as far as the chains would let me. I looked over at Mama Aimee, "They'll burn! They'll die! Put it out! Put it out NOW!"

She smiled enigmatically and left, the lock sliding shut behind her.

"No! Come back! Get them out of here! You can't do this! Come back!" I screamed, feeling my numb, cold wrists tear and warm as blood dripped down my forearms. I didn't care. I had to get free. I had to save them.

The green flames weren't dying out. Instead, a thick grey smoke began to fill the room.

I heard Jules coughing, followed quickly by the rest of them.

"Jules! Dad! Wake up! You have to…" I choked, the smoke slipping into my lungs like a dry, burning fog, "You have to get out!" I managed, coughing wildly as the room grew dim around me.

"Gus, please," I moaned, my eyes growing heavy as the smoke extinguished the last of the oxygen from my lungs, "Someone help us…"

I woke with a gasp, the smell of burning still in my nostrils. The sun shone brightly through the cheap roman shades, lighting my bedroom complete with pile of dirty laundry (Toucan Sam on top) and various other miscellanea.

Sitting up on the edge of my bed, I scrubbed at my red-rimmed eyes and fought back helpless tears.

It seemed so real. Now I know why they were so affected. It WAS real. Everything about it. The smell, the taste, the feeling of that cloying smoke against my skin. The utter helplessness. The sharp but distant pain in my wrists as I fought the thick metal cuffs.

I absently rubbed my wrists, hissing at the pain that appeared.

What in the world?

My wrists were red and inflamed. I brought my arm up for a closer look. It almost looked like…

But that was impossible.

It was just a dream. Right?

-000-

"Where's Lassie?" I demanded as I entered the station, Gus on my heels. I'd promised him I'd tell him about my dream when we had everyone together, but now I couldn't see Lassie anywhere.

"The Chief sent him out on a case," Jules said, "What's wrong?"

"Everything," I snapped, gesturing for my dad to come over.

"He had a nightmare," Gus offered helpfully, giving me a chastising glare at my tone.

"It wasn't a nightmare!" I insisted, practically shoving them into the conference room and shutting the door behind us.

"You're right. It was a bad dream. It couldn't be a nightmare because it isn't night yet," Gus said, looking pleased with himself at the logic.

I gave him a dirty look and paced along the wall.

"I know it wasn't a dream, but I also know it couldn't be real!" I said in frustration.

"Well, Kid, if it's not a dream and it's not real; then what is it?" Dad asked sarcastically.

I turned and glared at him.

"This isn't a joke! Look at this!" I said, showing them my wrists.

"Oh, Shawn! That looks painful. I think I can find some soothing cream in the first aid kit," Jules said, starting to stand.

"No!" I snapped and she sat back down with a frown. Taking a deep breath, I continued calmly, "No. I wasn't showing it to you to get treatment. I'm showing it to you to prove that my dream, or whatever, was more than a dream! It was real!"

They all looked at me doubtfully as I described what had happened.

"Don't you get it? We were dying! All of us!"

"And you were dying in all of our dreams. Don't you think it could just be the power of suggestion?" Dad offered.

"But it wasn't just a dream! I was really injured!" I pointed to my wrists.

"But Shawn, if the dream was real, wouldn't that mean we'd all be dead now? Asphyxiated or burnt?" Jules asked, attempting to reason with me.

I paused, thinking. She was right. Why would I be the only one…

"Jules, how long ago did Lassie leave?" I asked, moving over to the chair he'd sat in the last time we'd spoken.

"Right before you got here. Why?" Jules answered.

I took a deep breath and touched the chair gently before turning to look at them.

"I think…" I stopped, swallowing, "I think Lassie might be dead."


	8. Chapter 8: One little

**Chapter 8: One little, two little, three little Indians**

I could smell the smoke, thick and cloying, wafting up from his chair.

He was gone. I knew it.

But they wouldn't believe me.

"Shawn!" Jules cried, rising angrily from her chair, "Why would you say something like that?"

"It makes sense!" I continued, "If my dream was real and I really got hurt, then Lassie could really be dead. That's the only reason he wouldn't be here now!"

"He isn't here because the Chief sent him out on a case!" Juliet sad, her fists clenched.

"Don't jump to conclusions, Kid! I taught you better than that," Dad frowned, shaking his head.

"Gus, you believe me, right?" I asked, turning to my best friend.

He looked at me uncertainly.

"If Juliet says Detective Lassiter is out on a case…" he murmured.

They didn't get it! He wasn't out on a case. He was gone! Gone as in dead.

Oh, God. Lassie was dead and I was the only one who knew it.

"Jules, you said Lassie left before I got here," I said slowly, picturing the parking lot of the station in my mind. There was Lassie's car. He could have taken a patrol car or gotten a ride, but why would he?

"Do you remember him leaving?" I asked.

"Of course!" Jules said immediately.

"I mean, really remember," I continued, leaning across the table, "What car did he take?"

She frowned, thinking.

"I… I guess he took his. He always does," she said with a shrug.

"You don't know?"

"No!" she huffed, crossing her arms, "It's not like I walked him to his car and waved as he left!"

"Do you remember seeing him leave the building?" I pressed.

"I…" she frowned again, her arms falling to her sides, "No, but I was probably busy."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Dad asked, surprising me.

"He was at his desk," Jules said immediately, "He was cleaning his gun… And then you came to talk to me, and when you left he was gone," she finished, nodding at Dad.

"Gone?" I asked, bouncing on my toes.

She rolled her eyes.

"He left while I wasn't looking," she said rationally.

"Then how do you know he's out on a case?" I asked.

"Henry told me," Jules said with a shrug.

"No," Dad said, frowning, "You told me."

They stared at each other for long moments, during which I had the urge to place bets on who blinked first, and then Jules turned towards me.

"It isn't possible," she repeated, her voice less certain now, "I'll call him and prove it to you."

Pulling out her pink cell phone, Jules hit the speed dial and waited impatiently.

Our heads shot up as the song 'Bad Boys' echoed through the station.

I followed Jules over to Lassie's desk, his phone vibrating its way across the floor.

"But Carlton never leaves without his phone," Jules muttered in confusion, snapping her phone shut.

The ensuing silence seemed to suffocate.

"Where is he?"

-000-

Shawn couldn't be right. It didn't make any sense. My partner was not dead. He wasn't even really missing. He'd simply gone on a case without his phone. He'd be back any minute.

And I'd be waiting.

Shawn and Gus had left to search for him, at Gus' insistence since Shawn had the crazy idea he'd vanished into thin air or something.

I cushioned my head on my arms, propped up against my desk. I was so tired. Between the nightmare and Shawn's antics, I felt like a wrung out dishrag. Probably looked like one, too.

I'd just close my eyes for a second…

My phone was ringing. I cracked open my eyes and grabbed it, flipping it open even as I let my head drift back down to my desk.

"Hello?" I yawned, wincing as the muscles in my neck pulled. How long had I been napping?

"O'Hara?" Carlton whispered, breathing heavily.

"Carlton?" I exclaimed, sitting up, "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Shi-," I heard him mutter, expletive cut off as the phone scraped across something, "I need your help," he whispered.

"Do you want me to call in backup? What's going on? Where are you?" I asked, already reaching for the radio.

"No backup, just you," Carlton hissed, "I'm at 2343 Sycamore. McLane's Storage Center. Hurry," he added before the phone clicked off.

Even as I grabbed my coat and keys, I glanced down to save the number he'd called from. I froze.

He'd used Shawn's phone.

Was Shawn with him? Why hadn't he said anything? What was going on?

I sped over to the large warehouse, parking my VW Bug behind the dumpster. I slipped in the unlocked front door, the dim interior lit only by a bare bulb dangling high above the floor. Rows of storage containers stacked several high, loomed out of the darkness; creating a miniature city.

"Carlton?" I whispered, my gun drawn but pointed at the floor. I took a few steps deeper into the room, a shiver working its way down my spine.

When his hands came out of the darkness and grabbed me, yanking me back between towering containers, he nearly lost an important part of his anatomy. Only his quick whisper of "O'Hara" saved him from a quick meeting with my elbow.

"Carlton, what's going on?" I demanded in a harsh, breathless whisper.

"I wish I knew," Carlton said quietly, his warm breath ghosting against my ear as he leaned down, our bodies pressed together in the tight space, "There's something wrong with Spencer."

I almost laughed. Carlton had been telling me that since the day I met Shawn, but the worry in his voice told me this was not just another jibe.

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking up and over, my lips brushing against the slight stubble of his jaw as I spoke.

He shook his head, his jaw clenched, "He keeps ranting about how I'm dead," Carlton murmured, confused and angry and a little… afraid?

I slid my free hand up his arm, comforting him.

"There's more. He took my gun," Carlton said tightly.

"Took your…" I asked, puzzled. Number one, what would Shawn want with Carlton's gun? Or any gun, for that matter? Number two, how did he get it away from him?

"How?" I asked, forgoing the why for now.

"I…" Carlton started to reply, tensing as a voice came out of the darkness behind us.

"Getting cozy with my girlfriend now, Lassie-ghost?" Shawn said bitterly as I turned, Carlton's Glock pointed unerringly at us.

"Shawn!" I exclaimed, instinctively moving to cover my partner.

"Get out of the way, Jules. It's not him. Lassie's dead," Shawn said, the weapon still aimed.

"Shawn, don't be stupid!" I exclaimed, my voice shaking as I met his cold, hazel eyes, "Put the gun down, Shawn," I pleaded, raising my own weapon.

"Lassie's dead," he repeated, aiming over my head at my partner.

"Carlton," I said under my breath, my eyes on Shawn, "On three, run."

His fingers brushed the back of my neck and he shifted slightly.

"One…" Shawn's eyes narrowed, "Two…" Carlton took a deep breath, "Three!" I shouted, throwing myself forward even as I felt Carlton sprint away.

For a moment, I thought I'd be able to wrestle the gun away from Shawn, but he was stronger than I gave him credit for. As my head slammed back against the metal container, I lost my grip and he ran after Carlton.

Shaking off the dizziness, I followed. I had to stop him before he did something irreversible.

I had to save Carlton.

TBC

AN: Can you guess my secret ship? ; )


	9. Chapter 9: And then there were two

**Chapter 9:** **And then there were two**

It wasn't right. Nothing about this was right.

Chasing after my boyfriend, trying to keep him from shooting my partner, I felt a bubble of dread rise up.

This couldn't end well.

There was a loud bang. Not a gunshot, thank God, but nearly as loud in the echoic warehouse.

I slid around a corner and skidded to a stop, my gun already aiming even as I processed the scene.

Carlton was hurt.

Blood dripped down his cheek, staining the collar of his dress shirt like a Rorschach test- only in crimson red. He sat, leaning against a container and cradling his aching head in his hands.

The door of the container above him creaked as it slowly shut itself, the momentum of his head striking the bottom lip forcing it closed. The rusty blue had a streak of red painted across it: like a signpost warning future passers-by.

That wasn't what was worrying me.

Shawn stood over him, Carlton's gun looking out of place in those expressive hands. I couldn't see his eyes, but there was no shakiness in his stance, no hesitation as he aimed the weapon at my partner.

"Shawn!" I cried, swallowing back the guilt as I aimed my gun at him, "Put it down and step away!" I ordered.

Carlton's hands fell from his face; his stunning blue eyes met mine, steady and confident even in his weakened condition.

Shawn glanced back at me, his hazel eyes dark and hard. I tried not to let the fear show on my face.

"Shawn, put down the gun or I'll be forced to shoot you," I warned, my voice wavering slightly.

Was I really going to shoot Shawn? Was he really going to shoot Carlton? How had it come to this?

Shawn laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"You won't shoot me, Jules."

"I will if you don't put the gun down and step away from my partner," I warned, my voice hard and desperately serious. This was no time for kidding.

Shawn glanced back at me again, his eyes wild and angry.

"He's not your partner! Lassie's dead, Jules! He's dead!"'

Even Carlton flinched at the rising insanity in Shawn's voice, slowly pushing against the container and rising to his feet.

"I'm not dead, Spencer," Carlton said softly, his voice as calming as he could make it, "Put down the gun."

I never saw it coming. Neither did Carlton. He met my eyes, confused, determined, and just a little scared. I tried to smile, to give him confidence.

And then Shawn fired.

I could see the moment Carlton realized what the sound meant… and then he wasn't there.

Not anymore.

There was a second bang, the recoil forcing my eyes off my partner for just a split second.

I lowered my gun, the barrel smoking slightly. My training had paid off. Without any conscious thought, any decision, I'd reacted. I was as accurate as always.

I sank to my knees, my legs unable to hold me up any longer.

The sightless blue, blue eyes of my partner stared at me. Not accusingly, no, never, but patiently. Waiting for me to make the right move. Waiting for me to choose.

But I'd waited too long, and my choice had been taken from me.

I reached forward and absently ran my fingers through Shawn's hair. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. Like he was just sleeping. Sleeping here while my partner and I watched his six.

-000-

"Where's Jules?" I asked Dad, my hands full of Madam Wong's Chinese food.

Gus brought up the rear and the drinks. Setting down my burden on the conference table, I turned back towards Jules' desk, frowning.

Something was off.

Something…

"She was there a minute ago," Dad said with a shrug as he started to unpack the greasy brown bag, "Must have gone to the ladies room."

"Yeah," I agreed uncertainly, the feeling still nagging me.

Gus was already breaking open the Kung Pao chicken, the scent of hot peppers and Szechwan sauce overpowering the faint odor of smoke.

Smoke.

I could feel the blood drain from my face, gripping the edge of the table as my knees weakened.

"No. Oh, God, no," I whispered, turning slowly towards Jules' chair.

Gus froze, chopsticks halfway to his lips.

"Shawn, what's wrong?" Dad asked, grabbing my bicep.

I scrambled to pry my phone out of my back pocket, mentally cursing the skinny jean fad.

Hitting number two on my speed dial, I waited, my stomach churning.

The first strains of Bon Jovi's 'You Give Love a Bad Name' sent me across the station, falling to my knees beside her desk as I watched the little pink phone vibrate its way along the tile floor.

"Jules," I whispered, her name a plea, "No."

"Shawn?" Gus asked, sinking to his knees beside me and silencing the pink phone, "What's going on?"

I looked over at him, not bother to try and wipe away the tears I could feel dripping down my cheeks.

"She's dead, Gus. Jules is dead."

-000-

"She was just sitting at her desk! Sure, she put her head down for a second to rest, but she was right there! How could she be dead?" Dad asked belligerently, his arms crossed.

I leaned my head in my hands, back in the conference room.

I couldn't stand to stay out there any longer. I couldn't stand to see those empty desks.

Lassie. Jules. Two of my best friends. Jules even more than that: the other half of my soul.

And they were gone. Just gone.

Despite Gus' arguments, we'd gone looking for Mama Aimee's. We hadn't found it. There was a bar and a closed up tattoo parlor, just like I said, but nothing else.

Nothing but empty air.

I knew now there was more to this than what I was seeing, but I couldn't figure it out. How do you fight what you can't see?

How did I save Gus and my Dad?

I looked up at them, their worried faces swimming in the smoky room.

Smoky room?

I stood abruptly, looking around for the source of the familiar cloying smoke.

"Shawn? Gus asked worriedly.

I coughed, covering my mouth and nose with the collar of my T-shirt.

"We've got to get out of here! Now!" I said, stumbling towards the door, the smoke clinging to me tenaciously, like it was trying to drag me back to my chair.

I glanced back, wondering why they weren't following me.

I couldn't see them, the green-tinged smoke like a thick velvet curtain.

Taking a step towards where I thought they were, I tripped.

A sharp pain in my temple and terrible pain in my wrists.

I opened my eyes, still coughing.

Green flames flickered before me.

Lower now, they allowed me to see across Mama Aimee's basement, through the hazy smoke, at my friends.

The ones that were left.

I saw Dad first, his blank eyes still staring over at me. Gus was next to him, equally blank, but equally alive.

Jules.

Jules hung heavily in her chains, her head down and long blonde hair fallen from its tight bun.

Next to her, Lassie's lanky frame looked like a marionette with its stings cut; all joints and long limbs but no power.

No life.

"No," I moaned, shaking my head to deny what was right there in front of me, "No, please," I pleaded, talking to God, the Fates, whoever or whatever could turn back time or give back life.

The smoke was circling around Dad. I could see it moving, like currents in the ocean.

"Dad, please, don't die," I begged, pulling weakly on my chains, "Don't leave me too. You're too stubborn to die! Fight it! Fight it, Dad!"

Turning my attention to Gus, who the smoke was avoiding for the most part, I gave him my most serious glare.

"Gus, if you die, I'm going to tell your mom about Mexico. I swear it! So you can't die! You hear me! You can't! You can't!" I broke down, choking on the smoke and my tears, "You can't die. You're my best friend. Friends forever. You promised. Brothers."

Mama Aimee came in, still dressed in her green garb. The smoke and flames parted around her as she moved, curling behind her like the wake behind a ship.

She went over to Dad first, examining him. She moved next to Gus, frowning slightly.

Then she moved to Lassie. Bring out a ring of keys, she unlocked his restraints and caught him before he could fall to the floor. Leaning down, she hefted him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Where are you taking him?" I demanded, my heart sinking as Lassie's limp arms swung heavily.

She ignored me, shutting the door with her foot as she stomped slowly up the stairs.

I stared at Jules. Unable to see her face because of her position, I pictured it in my mind. Her smile. Her beautiful blue eyes. That frown she got when she caught me doing something irresponsible.

I'd never see any of those expressions again.

By the time Mama Aimee returned for Jules, I couldn't cry any longer. I watched, silently, as she hoisted her over her shoulders, much easier to balance then Lassie, and walked quietly from the room.

The door locked securely behind her.

I closed my eyes and prayed this was all a very bad dream.


	10. Chapter 10: One is the loneliest number

**Chapter 10: One is the loneliest number**

"Dad, don't die, please, don't die," Shawn muttered as I hovered above him, examining the damage he'd done to himself. Why the kid had started to freak out I didn't know, but he'd managed to knock himself for quite a loop, a large goose egg forming on his forehead.

"Come on, Kid, snap out of it," I said quietly, shaking his shoulder. Gus was shifting from foot to foot behind me, going on about concussions and skull fractures. Like a little tap to the table like that would break through my son's hard head!

"Dad?" Shawn asked, finally squinting open his eyes.

"I'm here, Shawn," I said, helping him up and into a chair.

He sat, looking around the room as if he'd never seen it before. Then he focused on Gus and I, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"I can't tell which one's real, Dad," he said quietly, "I can't tell!"

"What do you mean, Shawn?" Gus asked, squatting beside his friend.

"My dream, or whatever, where I'm in Mama Aimee's basement! She was there and she…" he choked up, "She took Lassie and Jules' bodies away."

At the word bodies, Gus paled and turned green.

"Shawn, what do you mean you can't tell?" I asked sternly, not about to let him give in to hysteria. I didn't know what was going on around here, but if anyone could figure it out it would be Shawn. He just had to focus.

"Focus, Kid! There's got to be a tell. Some sign! Something! Close your eyes and picture it!"

Obediently, Shawn closed his eyes and I could see them flicker behind his eyelids as he pictured his dream.

"There's things," he said slowly, "Things that shouldn't be real, but I know they are."

"Like?" I prodded.

"Like how Mama Aimee can move through the fire. Heck, the fire itself. Green. The smoke. How it acts like it is alive…"

"Creepy," Gus muttered, Shawn nodding in agreement, his eyes still shut.

"Very!"

"Creepy, yes, but realistic?" I countered, "How could you even think that was real?"

Shawn shook his head determinately.

"No, you're wrong, Dad! I know that's all real. I know it because…" he frowned deeply, his brow furrowing. With a shudder, he opened his eyes, looking haunted.

"What?" Gus whispered, his voice trembling.

Without answering, Shawn stood and left the conference room, striding out into the station's center. We followed.

"Look," he said quietly, raising his hands.

Gus and I looked around but didn't see anything amiss.

"What?" I snapped impatiently, "What are we looking at?"

"No, Dad, Gus, LOOK!" Shawn said his arms dropping to his sides as he glared at us.

Glancing at each other in confusion, Gus and I both looked around again. Nothing. It was completely silent.

Wait. I blinked quickly and shook my head. It wasn't possible.

It was completely silent.

"Where did everyone go?" Gus asked, his voice high.

"This isn't right," I muttered, "The police station is never unmanned. Never."

I stomped out towards the reception area. Nothing. Still moving, I flung open the door and stepped out into the warm sunshine.

Nothing.

No birds. No dogs. No people.

Just silence.

With shaky steps, I backtracked, returning to Shawn and Gus.

"Do you see now?" Shawn asked quietly.

I nodded sharply.

"But, if this is the dream," Gus said softly, "then where are we, really?"

"The basement of Mama Aimee's," Shawn said, sounding heartbroken, "Dying."

-000-

"I refuse to go down without a fight!" I shouted, my fist slamming down on the conference room table. We'd retreated here, unable to bear the stifling silence.

"But how do we fight if we're in a dream?" Gus asked sensibly.

"More to the point," Shawn said, "Whose dream are we in?"

We both looked at him, out eyebrows raised.

"Mine!" we chorused, glaring at each other.

With a macabre chuckle, Shawn shook his head.

"I think the guy who has actually been flittering between the real world and here would be the logical candidate for the dreamer… dreamee…" he shook his head, "dreamer!"

"Fine," I said, "So, what do we do? How do we fight?"

"That's the problem," Shawn said with a deep sigh, "I don't know. I just don't know."

-000-

I swear; I just laid my head down for a minute. Just to rest my eyes and think about things.

"Henry," a woman said softly, touching my shoulder.

I snapped to attention, blinking up and wondering when Karen had come in.

"Henry, there's a problem," Chief Karen Vick said, her commanding voice both sympathetic and distraught.

I pursed my lips, dismissing the strange dream I'd woken from. There had to be something really wrong to rattle the typically unflappable Chief of Police.

"What is it?" I asked, standing.

"We found Shawn," she said, her voice lowering, "He's got Gus hostage and we can't…" her voice broke, "We can't tell if Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara are still viable."

"What?" I asked breathlessly. I'd known the kid was going a little off the deep end with this whole dream business, but I'd never imagined he'd…

"We were hoping you could talk him down," Karen continued, "No one wants to take lethal force. Not if there's a chance…"

If there was a chance to stop my son without shooting him. The kid was well liked and no one wanted to hurt him, but if he'd harmed…

"Let's go," I said, throwing on my coat.

It seemed like hours before we made it to the warehouse. McLane's Storage Center was a rundown old building, the broken windows peering into huge metal containers, stacked high enough to create canyons that Shawn could hide in for days without being caught. Now I knew the other reason Karen had called me in. She didn't want to risk any more of her men in that deathtrap.

I took a deep breath and entered the dimly lit depot.

"Shawn?" I asked quietly, my gun still tucked in my holster. I could talk the Kid out of this- get him the help he needed. I don't know what caused him to finally snap, but surely he couldn't have gone too far. Not enough to hurt his friends or his girlfriend. No. They had to be tied up in here somewhere; Gus fretting about the grease getting on his clothes, Lassiter threatening to use his handcuffs, Juliet acting as the peacemaker, as usual.

"Mr. Spencer?" Gus' voice came trembling out of the darkness and I followed it, twisting around the rows of crates.

"Gus, are you alright? Where's Shawn?" I asked, coming closer to the origin of his voice.

"I-I'm okay," Gus said shakily, "But…"

"Hi, Dad!" Shawn said, startling me as his voice sounded from directly behind me.

I spun, my hands automatically moving for my weapon.

"Uh-uh, Daddy-o!" Shawn warned, Lassiter's Glock pointed at my forehead, "You'd shoot your only son?" he asked with a grin.

I lowered my hands, fighting the urge to rip the weapon away from him and give him a lecture on gun safety. The glint in his eyes told me it would be poorly received.

"Shawn," I said warningly, "You're in a lot of trouble."

He laughed, the sound grating as it bounced off the metal walls.

"Dad, Dad, Dad," he said, shaking his head, "You don't get it, do you?" he leaned towards me, "I'm beyond trouble now," he whispered.

Shaken by his words and the tone they were spoken in, I said nothing. With a flick of his wrist, Shawn motioned for me to continue forwards, towards Gus' voice.

I moved, keeping one eye on Shawn. As we moved out of the shadows, my stomach sank.

He was covered in blood. It wasn't his, the splatter marks attested to that, but the darkly drying crimson meant that someone was hurt badly. Or worse. And my son was involved.

"Shawn," I started to ask, falling silent as we rounded the corner and my eyes met a gruesome sight.

"Mr. Spencer," Gus greeted, looking at me for help.

But I had no help to give him.

Juliet O'Hara, my son's girlfriend and an exemplary police officer, lay curled in a pool of her own blood, obviously dead.

Next to her, her partner Carlton Lassiter, Shawn's sometimes friend and my sometimes fishing buddy, lay gasping out his last breaths. Gus was trying to stem the flow of blood, his hands pressing against the gushing wound in Lassiter's gut.

For someone as squeamish as Gus, this was a superhuman effort. But it was also hopeless. Even as I watched, Lassiter's sharp blue eyes were dimming, focused on his partner's motionless body.

"Shawn," I asked shakily, "What have you done?"

My son, the child I'd raised and molded to be the perfect police officer, grinned at me.

"They were already dead, Dad," he said, "I just tidied up a bit."

Gus let out a quiet sob and sat back, his blood coated hands falling from Lassiter's still body.

"He's dead," he said unnecessarily.

Shawn glared down at him.

"I told you, Gus, they were already dead!" his eyes met mine and he smiled again, raising his gun, "And you're next, Dad," he said quietly.

"No!" Gus cried, grabbing Shawn's arm, "Don't do it, Shawn! He's your father! Please, don't do this!"

Shawn shoved him away, Gus' head striking the crate with a metallic bang as he fell to the floor.

Shawn spared him half a glance, his attention focused on me.

What could I do? If it had been anyone else, I'd have wrestled him for the weapon or gone for my own. But this was my son. How could I shoot him? Kill him? No matter what he'd done.

"Shawn, please. You don't have to do this," I implored, reaching towards him, "Put down the gun, Son."

There was a flash of light and a bang. Then Gus was over me, his hands pressing down on my numb side.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he muttered, tears running down his face.

"Gus?" I whispered, brow furrowing in confusion. Where was Shawn? What happened?

My son suddenly appeared, leaning over Gus. He was smiling, his white teeth glinting in the sparse light. His face was freckled with red, the gun smoking in his hand. I finally realized what had happened.

Shawn had shot me. I was dying.

There was shouting and movement, loud voices crying out orders. Gus was the only steady thing in the room as shadows and people flickered in and out of my greying vision.

"Hold on, Mr. Spencer, hold on," Gus begged, refusing to look around, look away from my face.

I turned my head and looked beyond him, my heart breaking as I saw my son lead away in handcuffs, still laughing.

"Shawn," I called weakly, a familiar coppery taste filling my mouth.

He turned in the somber police officers' arms and grinned at me.

"Bye Dad!"

Gus looked down and sobbed.

-000-

"Gus?" I said quietly, unable to raise my voice as I internally prayed that it hadn't happened again. Not again.

I'd just looked away for a second. Just a moment.

"Yeah, Shawn?" Gus responded with a sigh, staring towards the open, but silent, window.

"Where's Dad?"


	11. Chapter 11: Because I could not stop

AN: To my reviewer, Understanding- Thank you for the GREAT idea! I might use that as an alternate ending. I didn't even think of that.

**Chapter 11: Because I could not stop for Death**

"What are we going to do, Shawn?" I asked, my voice on the cusp of breaking.

Mr. Spencer was gone. Just gone. Between one moment and the next. And Shawn… Shawn said he was dead. I had no reason to doubt him.

He was barely holding it together, the strain apparent in his jerky movements as he paced in front of me, hardly daring to blink in the fear that I'd be the next to disappear.

I didn't blame him. I was feeling a bit on edge myself, dream or no dream. It wasn't right, living like this. Or sleeping, or whatever. It wasn't fair.

"It's not fair," I muttered angrily, flushing as Shawn stumbled to a stop and stared at me. I stood before he could comment, throwing my shoulders back in an act of defiance.

"She, they, whoever is doing this isn't playing fair!" I stated, wincing at the word playing. It was like they were, she was, playing with us. Toying with us. We were helpless, trapped in this empty dream space, waiting to disappear.

And there was nothing we could do about it.

Instantly deflated, I sat back down.

Shawn's hand rested on my shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

"It'll be okay, Gus," he said, his usual bravado weak, "I'll figure it out. I have to."

I shook my head.

"You can't," I said, "You can't fight this." I gestured around me, the faux-wood walls lying even as they stood there.

"I can't give up!" Shawn shouted, removing his hand and resuming his pacing, "I won't!"

I opened my mouth to argue with him but sighed instead.

What was the point?

"Okay, Shawn," I said quietly, feeling suddenly exhausted, "What can I do to help?"

Shawn stopped again and sat down next to me with a sigh.

"There has to be some sign before it happens," he said quietly, "Maybe you can fight it? Maybe, if you know it is coming…"

It. The biggest IT in the world. Death. My best friend was trying to get me to fight death.

"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light," I murmured.

Shawn quirked a smile.

"Oh, God, can I not save one from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?" he quoted at me, nudging me with his shoulder.

"Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me," I countered, the momentary lightness left behind.

I coughed, a sweet, smoky scent irritating my throat. Funny that I had not noticed it a moment ago: my super sniffer always on the alert for new smells.

Shawn coughed too, his eyes widening.

"Gus?" he asked, his voice tight, "Do you smell that?"

I nodded, covering my mouth and nose with my arm as tendrils of green-tinged grey seeped under the door.

"We've got to get out of here! The building's on fire!"

Shawn shook his head, grabbing my arm as we stood.

"Gus, hold on! I think…"

"What?" I squeaked between coughs, "What's happening?"

He looked at me, his hazel eyes wide and fear-filled.

"We're waking up!"

The smoke engulfed the room, and I was suddenly squinting through watery eyes to see Shawn's outline. With speed that no inanimate object should have, the smoke curled around me, growing more and more solid.

It wasn't until Shawn cried out my name that I realized I'd been pulled from his grasp and was even now being spirited away to parts unknown.

"Shawn!" I cried, my voice muffled by the smoke surrounding me, "Shawn, help me! Shawn!"

I could hear him calling me still, telling me to fight. But it was too late. Death had come for me.

"Our Father, who art in heaven; hallowed be thy name…"

-000-

I woke chained in the dark with green flames flickering at my feet.

To say I was startled was an understatement.

How had a managed to rate a trip downstairs? I mean, I wasn't perfect, but to be sent to Hell…

"Hey, Buddy, you still with me?"

My head shot up and I stared over at Shawn in confusion.

He grinned at me.

"Where?" I croaked, now thoroughly confused.

"Welcome, Gus, to Mama's Aimee's scenic tours! Of course, there's not much to see in the basement, but you have to admit the amenities are top notch!"

His manic speech didn't fool me. He was petrified.

His smile fell as he glanced over at the door.

"Okay, so any minute Mama Aimee's going to come down here to collect…" he stopped, choking on his words.

"To collect my body?" I asked, my voice turning into a squeak of fear despite my best efforts.

He nodded.

I yanked on my chains, hoping I'd pull a Bruce Banner and Hulk my way out of this situation. No such luck.

Before I could discuss any future plans, Mama Aimee herself showed up.

At least, I assumed it was her. Who else would be dressed in that atrocious shade of forest green?

"Hola!" Shawn greeted, trying to distract Mama from her poisonous glare at me, "The room service really sucks around here! I ordered Perrier an hour ago!"

She ignored him and approached me.

I pulled back in my chains, swallowing as her fingers wrapped around my chin. I could hear Shawn still ranting, but all I could concentrate on was the absolute blackness of her eyes as they bored into mine.

She frowned and pulled away, glancing over at Shawn with a little huff of dissatisfaction. She reminded me of every schoolteacher we'd had; wondering why in the world a smart, responsible kid like me was friends with a screw-up like Shawn. I gave her the same determined, stubborn expression I'd given them. It was none of their business who my friends were.

Her eyes narrowed and she reached into a bag on her hip. Before I could ask what, exactly, she was doing, she threw down a handful of glittery powder, reigniting the dwindling green flames.

They shot to the ceiling with a roar and I shrieked in fear.

When I finally realized the flames weren't coming any closer, I calmed down enough to hear Shawn screaming my name.

"Hold on, Gus!" he cried as Mama Aimee left, "Just hold on! Don't give in!"

"Shawn!" I cried, the smoke once again winding around me, "Shawn, help me!"

-000-

I didn't know where I was or what happened. All I knew was that my head hurt and Mr. Spencer was dying.

I almost threw up at the sight of his blood pumping through the cracks between my fingers. I managed to hold on because I knew I was the only thing between him and bleeding out.

But who shot him? And where was I? How had I gotten here? And where was Shawn.

Movement above me drew my attention from my bloodied hands. Shawn. He stood over us, gun in hand.

Maybe he was protecting us from whoever shot Mr. Spencer? He moved and I got a glimpse of what was behind him.

Juliet. Lassiter. No.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as my eyes flittered away from their bodies. They were dead, of that there was no question. But who? And why? And how did Shawn and I survive this… massacre when all the cops, current and retired, fell?

So many questions and so few answers. I glanced up at Shawn again, trusting that he would protect me as I struggled to save his father.

Mr. Spencer. He was like a strange, emotionally constipated second father to me. His death, because he was dying, no matter my efforts, was hitting me hard. Harder than I'd thought it would. Lassiter and Juliet's deaths were like nails in my heart, but Mr. Spencer… he was like a railroad spike.

I heard voices and tensed, relaxing only when I recognized Chief Vick at the forefront. I met Mr. Spencer's eyes for the first time, trying to imbue him with strength to last. The cavalry was finally here. We were safe.

"Hold on, Mr. Spencer, hold on," I urged, keeping pressure on his wound.

"Shawn!" he cried, driving the spike deeper as flecks of red drooled from his lips.

"Bye Dad," Shawn said behind me, sounding strange.

With one last breath, Mr. Spencer passed away.

I looked down at my blood-covered hands and sobbed.

I cried for long minutes, sensing the movement around me with the detached feeling of shock. Finally, a hand on my shoulder brought me back to awareness.

"Are you hurt, Mr. Guster?" Chief Vick asked, her own face deeply grooved by sorrow.

I shook my head mutely, accepting her help as I stood shakily. She handed me a towel and I absently wiped the majority of crimson from my hands and forearms.

I followed her silently out of the building, noting with absent thankfulness that they'd covered the bodies.

I stumbled to a stop at the sight that awaited me outside.

"Shawn?" I asked, my voice cracking.

My friend, my brother, was handcuffed and stuffed in the back of a police cruiser, his head resting against the glass, his eyes closed.

I glared over at the Chief.

"Why did you arrest him?" I demanded defensively.

Chief Vick sighed and shook her head.

"I know he was your friend…" she started. I interrupted her.

"Was?" I snapped, taking a step away from her.

She gave me an odd look, her frown deepening- if that was possible.

"Mr. Spencer will be taken to a psychiatric facility as soon as he is processed," she assured me.

I blinked at her, trying to process the words. Why would they arrest Shawn? Why would they send him to the funny farm? Unless… Did they think Shawn had shot Lassiter and Juliet? That he'd killed his own father? The very idea was…

"Are you crazy?" I asked loudly, heads snapping around to look at us as I continued, "Shawn wouldn't, couldn't, hurt anyone! You've got it all wrong!"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Guster…" she said warningly.

I didn't listen. Pulling away from her, I ran to the car Shawn was cuffed in, my palm hitting the window beside him with a sharp slap.

"Shawn! Shawn, I know you didn't do it!" I cried, his hazel eyes widening as he looked up at me.

Large hands grabbed my arms and started to pull me away, even as I struggled.

"No! Let me go! He's innocent! Shawn didn't do it! He's…"

McNabb turned me around, still in his grip, and bent down to meet my eyes.

"Gus, he did it. We've got it on film. Shawn…" his voice cut out, "He killed them."

"No," I said, shaking my head.

McNabb locked his jaw and yanked me back to Shawn's prison.

"Here," he said, "Ask him!"

With a confused glance at the large officer, I turned to Shawn.

"Shawn, tell them you didn't do it. Tell them you didn't kill Lassiter, Juliet and your dad."

Shawn looked up at me somberly.

"I didn't kill them," he said, his voice muffled by the window. I relaxed a notch, and then he continued, grinning.

"They were already dead! I just tidied up a bit!" he said, letting loose with a haunting laugh that sent shivers down my spine.

"Shawn?" I whispered, my heart cracking.

He couldn't have… Could he?

I closed my eyes, my palms digging into the sockets as if to wipe away the images.

If only this was all just a bad dream.

_Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?_

I froze, the quiet words in my best friend's voice sounding familiar.

_A dream within a dream?_

I heard it again, echoing in my mind with a sense of absolute reality that this situation, this world, never had.

I smelled smoke.


	12. Chapter 12: Black Magic

**Chapter 12: Black Magic**

"Gus, please," I begged, tears running down my face as I stared at the empty seat across from me, clutching his cell phone in my hand, "Please, don't leave me. You're all I have left. You're my best friend," I finished quietly, the silence oppressing.

Gus was dead now.

I'd been too slow. Too late. Too weak. I couldn't figure out the answer in time and they had all paid for it.

I was alone.

I laid my head down on the table, closing my eyes. It made the silence more tolerable when I pretended it was night, that everyone I knew and loved was safe in their beds. That I was simply the last to fall asleep.

When the smoke returned, I didn't move. I didn't fight it. I had no reason to. At least, in that world, in the real world, I would have the opportunity to see Gus one last time.

I opened my eyes when I felt the chain reappear around my wrists. There was Gus, hanging limply against the wall, the green flames sputtering and dying at his feet giving him the illusion of movement, of life.

"Gus," I moaned quietly, slumped in my chains. His smooth 'magic head' glistened with sweat and lavender oil, and I yearned to see him flick his nose just once more; his cool move.

Madam Aimee returned and took him away, and once again I was left alone.

-000-

When I woke up back in Mama Aimee's basement I immediately went limp.

I had to convince her I was dead. It was the only way to escape.

Unfortunately, to convince her, I also had to convince Shawn.

I focused on keeping my muscles relaxed and breathing shallowly. Getting into a rhythm, I almost forgot about Shawn until he moaned my name.

"Gus," I heard faintly, his voice agonized.

It took all I had to remain silent.

Shawn being quiet was never a good sign, but now… I couldn't imagine how he felt. His dad was dead. His girlfriend and one of his friends. And now he thought I was dead too.

I had to do it, though. I had to get out, for his sake. If I got free, I could come back and rescue him. I was his only hope. If that meant he had to think I was dead… then so be it.

I could hear Mama Aimee coming down the stairs, her heavy footsteps like nails being pounded into a coffin.

I almost tensed as she approached me, her hands around my wrists as she unlocked my chains. I could have made my move then, but she was a big woman and I'm not ashamed to think I wouldn't be able to take her.

Well, maybe a little ashamed.

She threw me over her shoulders and carted me up the stairs. I kept track of how many steps she took from the basement door to the room she deposited me in. Once she laid me down on a couch, she took a few steps away, and I could hear the rustle of paper.

Not daring to open my eyes, I remembered what Mr. Spencer had taught us about using our other senses. I listened intently as what sounded like jars and bits of metal were thrown into a bag. I heard Mama Aimee draw closer and made sure I was still limp and lifeless-looking.

She bent over me, her finger tracing something on my forehead.

I immediately started to feel sleepy.

No! I had to stay awake. I had to wait until she left and then go help Shawn!

Fighting the drowsiness, I listened to Mama Aimee mumble something and then she finally left, the door closing quietly behind her.

I sat up, immediately wiping away the gritty substance on my forehead with my tattered sleeve. Grimacing at the puke-yellow stain, I shrugged off the last of the sleepiness and surveyed the room.

We were in a bedroom. A large bed dominated the space, my couch tucked in the corner next to a dresser. On the bed lay Lassiter, Juliet, and Mr. Spencer.

I swallowed roughly as I approached their bodies. They were positioned just like they would be in a coffin; hands crossed over their chests, eyes closed serenely. The only thing marring the picture was the swirl of yellow paste on their foreheads. The same yellow paste that had made me so sleepy.

But if they were dead, why would she try to make them sleep?

"Oh my God," I whispered, reaching shaky fingers out to Mr. Spencer's neck. Reassuring warmth greeted me, his pulse throbbing strong, if slow.

"They're alive," I whispered, a grin spreading across my face as I resisted the urge to do a victory dance.

I grabbed the edge of the sheet, intending to wipe away the nefarious substance, but paused.

Why had they fallen unconscious in the first place? What if she'd given them something else? What if I hurt them?

I stood and looked over at the cluttered dresser. Bottles and animal skulls, leaves and herbs littered the surface. But above it all sat an open book: the source of the paper rattling I'd heard.

Moving to the dresser, I kept the place open where she'd left it but flipped back to the bookmarked section.

'Spell to Remove Memories' the page was titled, and I gulped. That didn't sound good. Reading on, it only got worse.

_It is not possible to completely remove all memories of a person,_

_However it is possible to make those memories so painful that the_

_Recipient will unconsciously bury them, thus essentially erasing the memories._

_To do this you must first create the Potion Bête Noire,_

_Making sure you include hair from the person or persons you wish forgotten._

_To keep the effects permanent,_

_Keep the recipient asleep for at least twelve hours,_

_Preferably with L'dormir._

I shook my head. It sounded like it was safe to wipe off the goop and wake the others. I just hope they hadn't been out for more than twelve hours.

Flipping back to the original open page, I started to turn and release the others, but a glance at the ingredient list had me hunched over the tome, reading fervently.

_Spell of Eternal Life_

_The only way a life can be extended is if_

_Another life is taken._

_For eternal life, three lives are needed._

_The three lives must be have special qualities,_

_Matching those of the life they are extending._

_First you must prepare…_

I stopped reading, heart in my throat. Shawn. Oh my God, she was going to kill Shawn. Glancing to my right, I saw a small bottle, filled with what looked like blood, and labeled with a number one. A few inches away an empty bottle sat, labeled with the number three. There was a conspicuous empty spot between them.

Daniel Craig. He was number one. And Shawn… He was going to be number two.

"Not if I can help it!" I muttered, turning back to the bed.

I had work to do and a best friend to save.


	13. Chapter 13: Closer than a brother

**Chapter 13: Closer than a brother**

First things first, I had to get backup. Quickly wiping the goo from their foreheads, I shook Mr. Spencer's shoulder impatiently.

"Wake up," I snapped, my temper frayed to the breaking point.

He obediently squinted open his eyes, blinking up at me.

"Gus?" he rasped.

"You've got to get up," I said, pulling him upright, "Shawn's in danger!"

"Shawn?" he asked, shaking his head as he fought to stand.

"Your son, Shawn!" I practically screamed, keeping my voice just quiet enough to avoid Mama Aimee hearing it… I hoped.

Mr. Spencer stared at me for a moment longer, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes opened wide and his hands clenched.

"Shawn! What's going on? Where is he?" he asked quickly, finally back in charge. I could have fainted in relief, but Shawn needed me.

I glanced over at Juliet and Lassiter, but they were still out. Hopefully they'd be safe enough here for now, because we had no more time to waste.

"Come on," I said, leading the way to the basement.

-000-

She was back for me. I didn't bother to fight her. After all, what did I have left to fight for? My friends, my girlfriend, my dad… they were all dead. And it was all my fault.

She approached me, humming incantations and scattering herbs. The knife tucked in her belt looked sharp and lethal, glinting in the dim light of the firepot she'd lit.

I watched as she released one of my numb arms, the limb falling limply to my side. She traced a line down the soft skin of my forearm, a strange sparkling purple paste trailing down from the crease in my arm to my middle finger's tip.

She raised the knife, lowering the sharp point to rest at the beginning of the purple line, my blue veins throbbing strong beneath it.

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She looked at me, her dark eyes cold and pitiless.

"Because you have what I need, Psychic," she answered, pressing down on the knife.

I watched in numb disbelief as the blade trailed down my arm, crimson welling up behind it and steadily streaming down my fingertip.

It didn't hurt. The blade was too sharp, my arm too numb. Maybe the purple stuff numbed it even more. I didn't know which it was, but I was thankful.

I had enough pain. What was a little physical injury to match?

Mama Aimee knelt on the floor, a small bottle positioned beneath my finger slowly filling with the drizzle of my blood.

She stood and stoppered it, nodding in satisfaction.

And then the door flew open and the ghosts appeared.

"Shawn!" Gus' ghost said, his brown eyes locked on the blood flowing from my arm. I almost laughed as he paled. Who knew a ghost could faint?

But he didn't faint, and my dad was there, too. He was fighting with Mama Aimee, the large woman going toe to toe with my old man's ghost. I didn't know that ghosts could fight, but if anyone's could, it would be my dad.

Gus' ghost looked torn, glancing from me to my dad and back to me. Before he could choose, the decision was made for him.

Mama Aimee wrenched away and threw down a handful of powder. The room was instantly filled with thick black smoke. I heard Dad and Gus cough and wondered if it was some kind of supernatural smoke, to make even ghosts cough.

I giggled at the thought, coughs interrupting my increasingly hysterical laughter.

"Shawn?" Gus murmured, reaching my side. I saw him touch my arm but felt nothing, not even the icy feeling I'd been expecting.

My laughter cut off as Dad appeared too, emerging from the thinning smoke like the phantom he was.

"I'm sorry," I said, a feeling of exhaustion pulling me down.

"For what, Kid?" Dad asked quietly, removing his belt and tightening it around my arm.

I hissed as the faint sensation stabbed right to the base of my skull, my knees weakening.

I closed my eyes in expectation of pain, my whole body going limp and yanking on my still-chained arm.

And then Gus was there, holding me up. His warm body pressed against my side, the scent of lavender and an earthiness that was essentially Gus wafting up as I leaned my head on his shoulder.

"A good friend is closer than a brother," he quoted quietly.

"Love you too, bro," I whispered, clinging to the last vestiges of my hallucination.

"Hang on, Kid," Dad said, his large calloused palm against my cheek.

I smiled.

"I'm coming, Dad. You know I've got to make an entrance," I joked, the darkness, darker than the dull red of the inside of my eyelids, creeping closer.

"Shawn?" Gus said, his arm tightening around my waist.

As the darkness pulled me in, I heard him again.

"Shawn, answer me! Shawn! Don't you dare die on me! Shawn!"


	14. Chapter 14: Sting, Stang, Stung

**Chapter 14: Sting, Stang, Stung**

"Gus?" I murmured, blinking up into the white light. Everything was slightly fuzzy and inexorably bright, the only sound a slight hum.

Was this heaven? If it was, why did it hurt so much? My arm throbbed in time with my heartbeat and my mouth felt like a calico had decided to take a nap in it while I wasn't looking.

"Gus?" I asked again, louder. If this was heaven, heck, even if it wasn't, Gus would be there. He was always there.

Sure enough, a dark cloud passed over the endless white, the shadow a relief on my watery eyes.

"Shawn? You awake?" Gus asked quietly, his teeth flashing as he smiled down on me.

I relaxed. Gus was here. No matter where we were, we were together. That's all that mattered. Now the only thing that could make it better would be for…

"Shawn?" Jules' voice sounded like the harmonic strumming of angel's harps and I couldn't help but grin as her familiar face and long blond hair popped up next to Gus.

"Hey Jules," I managed to croak.

"Here," Dad said, appearing opposite of Jules and Gus, a cup of water in his hand. He stuck the straw in my mouth before I could move, but I wasn't about to argue this time.

Gulping down the flavorless, but miraculous, liquid, my clearing vision searched for the last piece to my puzzle.

Glaring at me from his ram-rod straight position at the door, Lassie couldn't hide the hint of concern as I choked from drinking too fast.

"Careful, Spencer," he warned, and I didn't bother to ask which Spencer he was talking to. I doubt even he knew.

I grinned at him anyway.

"So," I said, lying back in the bed, the smell of antiseptics filling my nostrils, "I'm guessing I'm not dead?"

Lassie snorted and shook his head, his arms crossed.

"What was your first clue, Kid?" Dad asked sarcastically, moving away from my bedside with a sigh as Jules glared at him.

"You're in the hospital, Shawn," she said, leaning her hip against my bed as she gently touched my cheek, "You lost a lot of blood, but you'll be fine. We all will," she added, glaring over at Dad and Lassie as if daring them to say differently.

My face fell at the reminder and I turned my head to kiss her palm.

"You sure?" I asked quietly, glancing between her and Gus.

"Yeah," Gus said softly, "We're good."

"Well, now that we've got that settled," Lassie interrupted, striding forward with a notepad in hand, "What the hell happened?"

They all looked over at me.

"What?" I asked, "I was apparently out for the conclusion of this little adventure. Why don't you ask Fearless Guster?"

Gus preened a bit at the attention but quickly shook his head.

"I know what happened at the end, but I have no idea how we got… there," Gus said, gesturing awkwardly.

"All I remember is Mama Aimee throwing down a handful of powder, and then nothing until Gus woke me," Dad said, his arms crossed as he glared menacingly at the wall. He hated to be out of control, and admitting to forgetting something was tantamount to admitting defeat. Jules and Lassie nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Yeah," I agreed, "You guys were pretty out of it."

"You guys?" Gus interrupted, "You mean that you remember?"

"Parts of it," I said with a shrug, wincing as the movement reawakened the ache in my arm. I continued before they could make a big deal about it.

"I woke up in the basement, all chained up like you found me," I said, looking at Dad and Gus, "You guys were standing across the room, chained up too, and acting like zombies."

Lassie scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"No, seriously," I defended, sitting up slightly, "Your eyes were open and you were standing but it's like you weren't…" I paused, swallowing back the hopelessness that the memory engendered, "It's like you weren't there," I finished quietly.

"Then what, Kid?" Dad asked.

"Then the voodoo priestess, or whatever, came in and lit this powdery stuff on fire, right in front of you!" I said, my voice rising in agitation, "I thought you were going to burn or suffocate. The room filed with this thick, greenish smoke, green flames…" I trailed off, remembering, "I tried to get free, to get to you, but I couldn't and then I…"

"What?" Jules asked.

"I guess I passed out," I said, "I kept having this weird dream, where you all kept disappearing, one by one, and I was trying to stop it, and then, when I woke up… You and Lassie," I said, looking up at Jules and tightly gripping her hand, "You were dead. At least, I thought you were dead," I said, swallowing roughly.

"They were unconscious," Gus supplied helpfully, "But it scared me at first, too, when I saw them."

I nodded, fighting for control. I never, ever wanted to see my friends, my family, like that again.

"Dad was next," I continued, "and then Gus woke up."

Gus grinned and nodded.

"I can take the story from here," he said, eyeing me worriedly as I lay back without an argument. I was too tired, in too much pain, to fight to tell the end of this twisted story.

"I woke up and Shawn told me what was going on," Gus said.

"Wait a minute," Lassie interrupted, "Why did you wake up? And for that matter, why did Spencer and not the rest of us?"

"Her potion wasn't supposed to work on Shawn," Gus said, "And I guess I'm just stronger than you," he finished with a nose flick.

"Wait a minute," I said with a chuckle as Lassie's nostrils flared, "Potion? What potion?"

"I'll get to that in a minute," Gus said uncomfortably, "Anyway, I woke up and Shawn told me a little about Mama Aimee and her collecting the… bodies," he stopped, shifting uncomfortably, "And then she came in and doused me with another smoke bomb thing and the next thing I know I was out. When I woke up, I remembered to play dead so she'd release me and I could escape and get help."

"Play dead!" I exclaimed, "You mean you..."

"I had to!" Gus defended.

"He saved your life, Kid," Dad added before I could get too upset.

With a huff of disgust, I glared at my friend as he continued his tale.

"She took me upstairs and I waited till she left. Then I got up and looked in her spell book to figure out what she'd given us."

"Spell book?" I asked, eyes widening at the thought, "You mean she really was a witch, or a priestess, or something really magical?"

"No such thing as magic," Dad said gruffly, "Just drugs and trickery."

I rolled my eyes and gestured for Gus to continue.

"That's when I discovered she'd been trying to erase Shawn from our memories," Gus said.

"Erase me? What for?" I asked.

"She," Gus said, clearing his throat, "She wanted to kill you and use your powers to extend her life."

"And wipe out any witnesses when you were discovered missing," Jules added.

"Not like it would have worked," Dad added under his breath.

"Powers my Great-Aunt Arizona," Lassie snarled, "The sick twist was psycho, pure and simple!"

"Anyway," Dad said loudly, bringing us back to the story, "Gus woke me up, screaming about how you were in danger and he couldn't get you two lightweights awake," he said, gesturing derisively towards Lassie and Jules, "So we ran downstairs and stopped her."

"Did you get her?" I asked, my memories hazy.

"No," Dad muttered, crossing his arms, "She got away."

"But she didn't succeed, and that's the important thing," Jules said, kissing me lightly.

I smiled as she pulled away.

"Now, rest!" she admonished, taking my good hand.

My exhaustion must be more evident than I'd thought, but I couldn't sleep. What if…

"We'll be here when you wake up," she said softly, Gus nodding behind her.

"Promise?" I asked, the tension in my grip belaying my light tone.

"Yeah, Kid," Dad said, gripping my shoulder, "Promise."

I grinned at them. My family, as dysfunctional and mismatched as they could be, but I still loved them.

"I need a drink," Lassie muttered with a roll of his eyes.

"I'll join you," Dad offered, ignoring the skyward look Lassie threw as he marched out the door.

"I better go referee," Jules said with a frown, glancing over at Gus for confirmation.

"I'll stay," he said, "I've got a new Safecraker Monthy calling my name."

"Rest, Shawn," she ordered, finger wagging.

I nodded and snuggled down into the thin hospital mattress, giving her a little wave as she left.

My eyes were just drifting shut to the sound of pages flipping when I heard Gus' whisper.

"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"

I held out my fist in Gus' direction, eyes closed.

After a second, his fist bumped mine.

"Night, bro," I mumbled, drawing my hand back under the covers.

"Sleep tight, Shawn," Gus said softly.

END

AN: There is an Alternate Ending in the works, so keep your eyes open and thanks for reading!


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